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by Hexes



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Broken Promise, Drabble, Emotional Turmoil, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Wade Wilson, Major character death - Freeform, Song Inspired, Suicide, Whump, grave site, trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexes/pseuds/Hexes
Summary: Peter's gone and Wade's broken.My short blurb on "Peter's died, and Wade can't"Un-beta'd





	Home

    On good days he remembers Peter's smile. The glittering of his eyes as they tumble to the hardwood of their apartment, covered in paint, laughing and tearing each other's clothes. The feel of Peter's warm lips under his fingers, the pulsing of heat inside of him as Peter's stomach seizes up and his mouth falls open, bliss splashed across his face like the paint on the floor.

   On hard days he lays on the cool Earth, basking in the shadow cast by the headstone - the ground used to be soft, lain freshly over the plain pine box. It's hard now, grown over with grass, and the flowers he'd planted, fed and stained by Wade's blood from the bad days. At times he curls up, hiding beneath the lazily drooping heads of sunflowers, thinking of how he misses the look on Peter's face when he comes into the kitchen to see a vase stuffed to bursting with the brilliant yellow flowers. The look of joy, and suspicion: Wade regrets that he only ever brought them home when he'd done something Peter wouldn't like. They were his favourite. 

    Bad days see him wrapping his lips around the barrel of a high caliber handgun, tears running freely as he remembers just how he tasted, his mind a quiet riot of knowing he told Peter he'd never do this again, wishing he could stay with Death, with Peter, in the chill soil, relaxed and surrounded by those he loves. Wishing he could go home. Be home. Stay home. Belong. The sound can't even register, nor the taste of the bullet, but the quick fade to black is all he needs on days like this. 

**Author's Note:**

> I caught a Michael Bublé song, and then this happened...  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbSOLBMUvIE


End file.
